


My Heart Searched For

by Dirty_Corza



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirty_Corza/pseuds/Dirty_Corza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and his relationship with his older brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Heart Searched For

Mycroft had often been there for Sherlock. When he was young, it was Mycroft who comforted him after night terrors, it was Mycroft who went out of his way to tell Sherlock that the rest of it didn’t matter, shouldn’t matter. That Sherlock was brilliant and that was all that mattered. It wasn’t that Sherlock meant to take it for granted, but he did. His brother was simply that to him, his brother, his best friend, and he thought that went without saying.

That all changed, though, in one day. One terrible, awful day, and his world was shattered. Mycroft moved away, and Sherlock was sent off to a private school, alone for the first time in his life. Not only that, but his mother forbade him from contacting him, to teach him independence, she claimed, but to Sherlock, it was a blow to the reality he had thought he knew.

His grades didn’t suffer, but his self-confidence did. Teachers praised his focus, though the counselor worried about his lack of friends. A recluse, he was called, and rightly so. He showed up to classes, but rarely meals, prefering to stay in his room. He didn’t evenregister why it all changed. All he knew was thAt in this place, the people didn’t know him, the other students didn’t trust him. He was alone, and he hated it.

Those were the longest four years of his life, those years until adulthood. He matured, and hardened, changed by the harsh words he tried to forget, by the flippant way those around him disregarded him as anything other than an exceptional mind. By the time he left, that was all he thought of himself as well. His interests were perverse, his way of thought strange, and his only redeeming feature was his mind.

That was how he was when Mycroft saw him again, spirit broken, harsh and cynical. He had moved out his first opportunity, finding a run down flat to rent that he could afford on his own, intentionally avoiding anywhere their mother might find him.

“Oh Sherlock,” he had said, “this is no place for a man like you.”

Sherlock had brushed off those words, giving his brother the same cold glare he had learned to give everyone else. He had seen Mycroft flinch from it, but he hadn’t cared, not then. He hadn’t let himself feel his own pain seeing that until Mycroft had left. Only then, when he was alone again, did he allow the tears to fall, hating himself for those moments as he tried to blame his brother. He knew it wasn’t true, though, the things he tried to believe. The years of silence hadn’t been his brother’s fault, and he knew it, no matter how much they hurt, he couldn’t blame him for it.

That was why, when he surfaced again, mind scarred by drugs, body broken by his own neglect, he found his way to Mycroft. It had been years since he had last spoken to his brother, years since Mycroft had seen him face to face. He broke into his house, to his bedroom where he waited, scared and alone, with no idea how Mycroft would react.

“Sherlock?” his voice was full of disbeleif, his eyes full of worry as Sherlock nodded, as he took in his brother’s appearance. “Thank god you’re alive. I’d feared the worst.”

Sherlock gave a small smile, reaching out a shaking hand to him. “I’m afraid I nearly was. I-I need your help. I know I’ve, well, that is. I got adicted. And I can’t trust anyone else. You’re the only one-” he flushed, looking down at his hands, leaning against Mycroft as he sat next to him. “you’re the only one I can trust.” his voice was soft, not daring to look into his brother’s eyes, afraid of what he’d find, mind haunted by the nightmares of it all, of even Mycroft turning him away with disgust.

Mycroft’s arms were soft as they wrapped around him, gentle in a way that made Sherlock melt into his touch. “Of course I’ll do my best to help you, Sherlock, in any way I can.” those soft arms urged him to lie down on the bed, soft hands gentle as they handled his frail body. “Anything to have my brother back.” Sherlock almost thought he’d imagined those words, his worn mind falling into an exhausted sleep for the first time in days.

It was nearly a month before Sherlock was healthy enough Mycroft stopped nursing him, three before he stopped waking up in a cold sweat. Five before he could go a day without fingering the scars from his drug use, and six before he realized Mycroft was still letting him share his bed after all this time. It was like a summer breeze, invigorating, freeing. It gave him hope that maybe these feelings that had been growing for the past six months weren’t exclusive to his own mind.

That night, he built up the courage, waiting for Mycroft to climb into bed before turning to him, surprised by the nervous expression he saw there. “Mycroft, I think I feel for you something not exactly as a brother should.” his cheeks were flushed as he spoke, anxiously awaiting a response.

“Sherlock…” Mycroft didn’t take the time to finish his words before reaching out a hand to cup his cheek, urging him closer until their lips were pressed together. Sherlock moaned into the kiss, moving closer until they were pressed together, feeling each other’s bodies for the first time.

“I love you.” he whispered, leaving the kiss to curl up in his brother’s arms.

“And I, you.” Mycroft returned the sentiment, pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock’s forehead, holding him close as they drifted off to sleep together.


End file.
